


You Know My Name

by Heather_Night



Series: You Know My Name [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Peter Hale, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Spies & Secret Agents, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: Peter always enjoyed training the newbies. There was something about defiling the innocence as he showed them the ropes.  Best of all, he got to issue their code names.





	You Know My Name

**Author's Note:**

> Is there an obligatory James Bond-esque 'verse across fandoms? I feel like there should be and this is my contribution to the genre.
> 
> There are mentions of attraction but nothing too graphic so I decided to use the Mature rating to keep consistent with the other four stories although I'll need to confirm one of them doesn't stray into Explicit territory as some of my stories are wont to do.

Peter always enjoyed training the newbies. There was something about defiling the innocence as he showed them the ropes. Best of all, he got to issue their code names.

Lydia Martin, aka Pepper Potts, stood next to him vibrating with energy. Yes, Peter had gifted her with the moniker. Lydia lacked the freckles but the reddish hair, high IQ and ability to take control of situations quickly solidified his choice. She was extremely versatile, able to work in the field but also made an excellent handler.

“What can you tell me about this class of recruits?” Peter stood tall and crossed his arms. The mirrored window kept those on the other side from seeing him but he always enjoyed observing them initially without them being aware. Later he would enjoy striking terror in the hearts of the new agents but for now he could play voyeur and get the lay of the land.

“Very strong. In fact it’s almost as strong as my class. One of my very good friends is a part of this recruitment.” The new class filed into the gym and Lydia—elegant, always mannered Lydia—elbowed Peter’s side and hissed, “There he is!”

Peter eyed the six agents, five men and one woman. One of the men preened in front of the mirror and Peter snickered at his antics.

Lydia exited the observation room in a flurry of skirts. Practically flying across the gym, she raced past the young man who had been admiring himself in the mirror. He had started to spread his arms in welcome but his face fell when she bypassed him before it rearranged itself into a sneer. Despite the sour expression he was quite stunning. He seemed to have some attitude issues although that never precluded someone from succeeding in this job. Perhaps Narcissus would be a fitting codename?

Lydia rocketed into the chest of an unassuming young man wearing a red hoodie. Little Red Riding Hood? In any event, the young man enveloped her in a hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around, oblivious to the stink-eye Narcissus threw his way.

Perhaps this class would live up to the hype after all.

-0-

Peter made it a point to interact with all of the new agents. At the end of the first week, he met with Lydia to discuss his impressions and determine the best training tract for each.

“Let’s start with Jackson,” Lydia said.

Peter raised an eyebrow but he let it go. There was definitely tension between Lydia and the pretty boy of the group. A bit of history, too, although Lydia hadn’t confided in him. Yet.

“Ah, yes, Narcissus. He’s definitely smarter than he looks, he’s devious, and comes across as a politically connected social climber. I would suggest the office tract for him.” Peter waited for Lydia to weigh in now that he’d shared his opening impressions. 

She pursed her lips but nodded. “Agreed. Danny?”

“Hawaiian Hang Loose is very attractive with that dimpled smile and sunny disposition. His true strength lays in his mastery of all things electronic. Although he’s capable of working in the field the lab is going to snatch him up.” Peter shifted in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“He’s definitely lovely both inside and out but you’re right, the lab is already chomping at the bit to get their hands on him,” Lydia agreed. “Kira?”

Peter smiled. “Electra. Tiny, stunning, energetic and smart. She’s a dynamo of a martial artist, able to defend herself easily in close combat situations. She’s also perhaps the least graceful person I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. The only person who volunteers to work with her on the one-on-one exercises is Scott. If we can overcome some of her klutziness I think she’d be a real asset in the field.”

Lydia smiled widely back at Peter. “Scott is a human rainbow but I think he likes her. I’ll have to keep an eye on that while they’re training. As for Kira, I agree. Shall I take the next three?”

“As long as I retain naming rights,” Peter conceded.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia continued. “Let’s move on to Scott.”

Peter could feel his eyes crinkle he smiled so widely. “Dudley Do-Right.”

Barking out unladylike laughter, Lydia said, “You have nailed that one with the uneven jawline and urge to do good. He exudes innocence and charm and I’ve seem him cajole the truth out of people effortlessly. Very good at self defense, too. I’m thinking the more traditional side of service would suit him, investigating and interviewing.” 

Peter had been right in his assessment of Lydia. She was going to go places here, possibly straight to the top. “I agree whole heartedly. Coyote?”

“You must be referring to Theo.” Lydia tucked a hank of hair behind her ear. “Both gregarious and solitary and, most importantly, stealthy. He’s approached and won everyone over except for one member who remarked to me about Theo resembling a trickster.”

“And that leads us to Little Red Riding Hood,” Peter said.

Lydia snorted her amusement. “I thought for sure you’d tag him with Bambi. I much prefer Little Red Riding Hood.”

Peter had considered Bambi. It was the large brown eyes and speckles across his skin that invited the comparison, however, there was something damsel-ish about Lydia’s friend that matched his new codename. He was smart like Lydia but Stiles tended to think outside of the box at all times which could be a deterrent. “So tell me about his super power.”

“He’s average, if average means he excels at everything, but he can sell a lie to strangers like nobody’s business. We even have polygraph evidence of him telling some whoppers and not being caught out. He’d be ideal in the field,” Lydia concluded.

Peter frowned. “I’m not so sure I agree with you, Lydia. I can’t put him in the field if he’s going to get his ass handed to him.” Kira had annihilated him when they’d been paired in exercises.

“Please keep your mind open to the possibility.” She looked at her watch. “Now it’s time for class.”

Waiting until the class had assembled in the gym, Peter followed closely in Lydia’s wake as she made her entrance. She cleared her throat. “Today we’re going to work on chokeholds. Specifically the blood choke.”

Lydia began reciting information on the various holds, inviting the agents to contribute. Peter looked to Stiles who was a veritable cornucopia of knowledge but for once the younger man was silent. He rubbed his forehead and blinked his eyes, drifting toward the back of the group.

Scott, the human rainbow, moved toward his friend and Peter let his feet carry him closer to the two men. 

“Hey, Stiles, you don’t look too good. Maybe you ought to go back to your room,” Scott suggested. It was very good advice.

“I can’t. Peter already thinks I can’t cut it. I’m not giving him an excuse to wash me out,” Stiles said. His voice was scratchier than usual and lacked its usual verve.

Little Red was very astute. When you were given an assignment in the field, you didn’t get to call in a sick day. Either you sucked it up and completed the mission or you didn’t and most likely someone died.

“Trouble, gentleman?” Peter inquired.

Scott shook his head hastily and rejoined the group, pairing up with Kira. Lydia was working with Jackson and the young man was in heaven, happy to have her attention. Theo and Danny had paired up as well.

“Stiles?” Peter prompted.

“No, sir.” Stiles began to wrap his arms around his middle but he made them drop to his sides. The young man knew body language was key and he was trying his best not to call attention to himself.

Good effort should be rewarded. “How about I demonstrate the most effective hold in the arsenal? It’s my personal favorite.”

Stiles opened his mouth, possibly to decline, but decided against it. “Thank you.”

“It’s called the Rear Naked Choke.” Peter waited for it and he wasn’t disappointed as Stiles’s face flushed a bright pink. Of course it quickly washed away leaving a sickly pallor behind. This interaction was doing nothing to change Peter’s opinion about Stiles not being field material.

It was, however, solidifying Peter’s own attraction to the younger man. So far he’d been able to hide it from Lydia but he wasn’t certain how long that would continue.

Peter cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind; the last thing he needed was to pop a boner while getting up close and personal with a trainee. “Let’s start with the left arm technique. The attacker encircles his opponent’s neck so the trachea is in the crook of the elbow. The attacker’s left hand then grasps his own right biceps. The right hand is placed behind, or occasionally on top of, the opponent’s head. I actually prefer placing the palm of my right hand on my own shoulder to reduce escape possibilities. The elbows are then brought together.”

“So the lateral pressure from the biceps and radius bone is applied to both sides of the neck?” Stiles was an astute student. His intelligence definitely wasn’t in question.

“That’s correct. When the hold is applied properly unconsciousness occurs in less than 10 seconds. Of course recovery is just as quick so you need to have restraints or a plan of escape at the ready.” Peter always included this caution. More than one agent had choked someone unconscious only to be taken by surprise when their opponent made a successful, and speedy, recovery. 

Stepping in front of Stiles, with his back to the man, Peter said, “Why don’t we walk through it?”

Stiles easily circled his left arm around Peter’s neck and he didn’t stumble with grasping his own arm. The problem occurred when it came time to apply the torque and Stiles fumbled with his right hand.

“Not bad.” Peter stepped away to face Stiles. He knew it was important to throw the young agent a bone. Although not that _bone_. His body was pleased at the nearness of Stiles. Positive feedback was key in training but keeping his cock soft was more important.

Stiles wrinkled his nose and it was adorable. “I didn’t do it right.”

Little Red wasn’t one to be placated. Interesting. “How about I run through it in real time. We can face the mirror so you can see it.”

“You mean you’re going to choke me out?” Stiles arched an eyebrow; he wondered it Lydia taught him that or vice versa. It called attention to the unique shade of brown eyes. Some might say honey, some whiskey. Fascinating.

Stiles continued to stare at Peter and he realized he’d been asked a question. “It’s called practice for a reason. Unless you don’t trust me?”

“You I trust.” Stiles didn’t even miss a beat. Peter wasn’t sure if he should be alarmed or gratified by Stiles’s faith in him.

“I want you to tap my arm when you get dizzy. There’s no need for me to completely choke you out at this stage. I just want you to get comfortable with the technique.” Actually Stiles would need to choke out, and be choked out, but Peter would pair him up with one of the trainees for that.

They moved closer to the mirror. They were of a same height but Peter had the more mature, filled out body. Stiles had muscle but he was more lithe. He had a certain dainty grace and Peter wondered what kind of dancer he was. How he’d move between the sheets.

Peter scolded himself. Now was not the time for such thoughts.

“Here we go. Left arm here. Grab the right arm. Palm on my own shoulder. Ready?” Peter paused to make sure Stiles was prepared. He didn’t want to witness flailing panic.

Stiles nodded, teeth biting into his lower lip. Peter’s body took notice of the firm ass prodding his groin. He needed to move this along before he embarrassed himself. “Elbows are brought together.”

It was a textbook choke. 

Peter waited for Stiles to tap his arm but when the younger man didn’t, Peter loosened his grip anyway. Stiles was stubborn and perhaps trying to prove a point.

The young agent’s head tipped forward without warning and the tension fled his body, his legs sagging. No one was that stubborn.

“What the hell are you doing, Peter?” Lydia appeared in the mirror behind him as he sank to his knees, cushioning Stiles’s fall to the mat.

“I think he passed out.” Peter quickly located the carotid pulse point. Nice and steady but the gray cast to Stiles’s skin tone was worrying.

Lydia shooed everyone out of the gym as she grabbed the phone on the wall and dialed medical. They were down the next wing and would be here in minutes.

Peter shifted Stiles’s limbs and moved him into recovery position on his right side. The young man’s stillness concerned Peter and he put one hand on Stiles’s arm to keep contact and let his other hand smooth the soft strands of hair away from his face.

Dr. Deaton burst into the gym. “What do we have?”

Lydia’s voice shook but otherwise she remained composed. “Twenty-two year male. Complained of dizziness and headache previous to class. Passed out while practicing chokeholds.”

“Hmm. It obviously wasn’t a chokehold that caused this otherwise he’d already be awake. Let’s see what we have.” Deaton rummaged around in his bag, withdrawing a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. “Does he have previous medical history that you’re aware of?”

“Physically he’s had some issues with concussions but he’s been fine since he gave up Lacrosse.” Lydia was gnawing the lipstick off of her lips.

“Mentally?” Deaton prodded.

“Stiles had some anxiety issues when he was younger but he’s overcome them.” Lydia was not always forthcoming but this was rather tight lipped, even for her.

“Can you elaborate?” Deaton asked as he took Stiles’s blood pressure.

Lydia frowned but she complied. “His mom died of frontotemporal dementia when he was 10 and from what I gather it was stressful. His dad was the county sheriff and I think Stiles always thought he’d lose him, too. He got past it though.”

Deaton pulled up Stiles’s t-shirt and Peter, hand still in Stiles’s hair, stared. He was nicely built but definitely slim. Maybe too slim with prominently displayed ribs and collarbone. “Perhaps Mr. Stilinski is a little malnourished.”

Peter wasn’t a doctor but even he could see that. Deaton pressed the stethoscope against Stiles’s back. If Stiles had been conscious Peter was sure he would’ve yelped; no one liked that cold metal pressed against their skin. 

Deaton frowned. The stethoscope was then placed in the front, over his heart and then moved around. Deaton’s frown didn’t change.

“His lungs are very congested. I need an x-ray but I suspect pneumonia. I’m going to get a gurney and then I’ll take him to medical.” Deaton folded his stethoscope and pressure cuff and pressed them into his bag.

While he did that, Peter gathered Stiles into his arms. With an arm braced behind his back and the other beneath Stiles’s knees, Peter pushed to his feet and cradled the unconscious man against his chest. “I’ll take him for you.”

Deaton looked like he wanted to say something but he grabbed his bag. “Right this way then. The sooner I can start a course of treatment, the sooner this young man can return to training.”

Peter held his silence. He had no intention of signing off on fieldwork for Stiles. He’d pegged Stiles as a damsel in distress and this, carrying him down the hallway, proved the point.

Stiles would be disappointed but he’d get over it. It was more important that Stiles remain in a controlled environment, out of harm’s way.

If not for Stiles’s sake, then for Peter’s.

-0-

Peter was dismayed to find out Stiles had a lung infection that required surgery. Not only had the young agent in training had pneumonia but also the infection had moved to the pleural space, the area between the lungs and the inner surface of the chest wall, and it was most unfortunate because the pus couldn’t be cleared through coughing. Surgery had been needed and although the procedure had gone smoothly, Peter couldn’t help but worry about the young man.

Shaking his head, Peter could say truthfully he had never wanted to know about pus in pleural spaces and it said something—although he wasn’t quite sure what—that he’d made it his business to know about Stiles’s condition.

For such a sick young man, Stiles’s room had a lot of foot traffic. Peter had to wait down the hallway, feigning interest in something Deaton was saying, just to wait his turn.

His protégé, Lydia, finally left the room and Peter clapped Deaton on the shoulder with a, “Good talk, Doc,” before he hustled in to see the recovering trainee.

Stiles was curled on his side, arm held over his chest as though he was protecting it, oxygen prongs in his nose. He looked wan and uncomfortable.

Peter slipped into the chair next to the bed and scanned the monitors. At least the young man’s vitals were stable although his temperature was still a bit higher than Peter found acceptable.

The young man in question tried rolling over to his back and yelped, eyelids springing open. “Ugh. Hurts.”

At this point Peter didn’t think Stiles was aware of his presence and he didn’t want to startle him. In his softest voice, Peter comforted him. “Just stay still. Can I get you anything?”

Stiles’s hand reached out, grasping, finding and clinging to Peter’s forearm. “Please, don’t leave me.”

The pretty eyes Peter so admired were cloudy and perspiration dampened his hairline. Unless Peter missed his guess, Stiles’s fever was on the verge of breaking but at the moment it was making him uncomfortable and confused.

What was it about this young man that made Peter want to take care of him? It wasn’t guilt—Peter hadn’t given Stiles pneumonia or landed him in the medical ward—but it was something.

Peter held the hand between his own and admired the long, elegant fingers. He rubbed it gently and slowly until the tension in the extremity lessened.

“Peter?” Stiles croaked.

“I’m right here, Stiles. Just try to rest. When you wake up you’ll feel much improved.” One of Peter’s hands strayed to an errant lock of damp hair across the furrowed brow and he brushed it to the side.

The other man closed his eyes and seemed to do Peter’s bidding.

Peter’s heart clenched. He’d like to blame it on heartburn but he thought, perhaps, he had a larger problem on his hands.

Somehow Little Red Riding Hood had gotten under his skin. He so hoped there was a treatment for that but he somehow doubted it.

-0-

Once again Peter visited medical, pausing outside of the room housing his favorite little agent. Stiles was going to make a full recovery. Peter was here to break the news to him that he had indeed washed out of the fieldwork tract and was being placed with the handlers.

Lydia was in with Stiles, her voice rising harshly. “It’s not fair, Stiles! You worked hard to get this job and he’s washing you out.”

Someone coughed. It was wet and phlegmy. This was making a complete recovery? Peter revised his opinion of Dr. Deaton.

“Lyds, you’re the one who wanted me to work in the field. I’ll be fine.” The usually hoarse voice was more croak than smoky sounding.

“Ugh! I give up. I’ll be back later when they kick you loose.” Lydia swept out of the doorway, not looking to the left or right.

Peter had dodged a bullet. He didn’t need to get into a row with his protégé.

Knocking against the doorframe, Peter waited for Stiles to invite him inside.

The deep barking sound was the only invitation Peter received and he let himself inside, offering Stiles a cup with a straw that was sitting on the tray table just out of his reach.

Stiles took the cup gratefully, pulling strongly on the straw with a deep suck, his cheeks hollowing out.

Jesus. Peter could come from the sight alone.

“Did you really stick me with Little Red Riding Hood?” Stiles asked when he finally caught his breath.

Stiles didn’t mention Peter’s earlier visit to his room and neither did Peter. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or vexed.

“I did. The very first day I saw you in that dreadful hoodie, it just fell into place.” Peter didn’t mention the whole damsel angle. No man wanted to be seen as vulnerable. 

“Can I ask you something?” Stiles winsome smile invited Peter to smile back.

“I suppose you earned it.” Peter figured this was the part where the young agent would make his case for being let back into the field.

“What’s your codename?”

Peter hadn’t seen that question coming. He wasn’t sure why, especially since they were talking about codenames, but he found his own name quite drab. Even common. 

Sighing loudly, Peter acquiesced. “Halestorm.”

Stiles’s lips curved into a lopsided grin that was ridiculously attractive. “H-a-l-e like your last name? Really? I must confess, it fits.”

Stiles had a flair for research so Peter shouldn’t be surprised that the young agent knew his name. It wasn’t something he shared with many people but it didn’t bother him that Stiles knew.

“How so?” Other than sounding a bit catchy, and incorporating his name, Peter wasn’t sure he agreed.

“Think about it. Violent storms with intense updrafts cause hail although that’s usually short lived and near the end of the parent storm. They can do a lot of damage before they sail off.” Stiles stared up at Peter with those big, brown eyes and Peter got the sense they were no longer talking about codenames or weather.

“I’m leaving on assignment but I wanted to make sure you were no longer feeling the ill effects of chokeholds.” Peter fought with himself and his urge to smooth Stiles’s hair back from his eyes.

Stiles frowned. “I feel cheated. I never did get to execute that, what did you call it? Rear Naked Choke, on you.”

Peter finally caved to his urge touch the young man. He smoothed the silky hair back from his forehead and pressed his lips against the exposed skin there. “Take care of yourself, Red.”

Before Stiles could say, or do, anything else Peter turned and exited the room. 

He had a mission to prepare for. He needed to make peace with Lydia. But most importantly, Stiles was safe from harm.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> I have always loved Chris Cornell's voice so I have a fair bit of his music on my MP3 player and while listening to his James Bond theme song to Casino Royale, You Know My Name, I decided I could pay small homage to him by writing some stories using the lives of shadowy agents as the backdrop for a 'verse. Doing so also afforded me the opportunity to string together loosely based stories while filling five hurt/comfort prompts so I was quite happy.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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